


Morning

by gowerstreet



Series: The world which hides at the corner of your sight [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Even consulting detectives understand the importance of home, Gen, Platonic Romance, non slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:03:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gowerstreet/pseuds/gowerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-dawn at 221b. The sleeper awakes...</p><p>Follows directly on from 'Return'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning

The peculiar sensation of claws trampling across his chest pulled Sherlock from sleep. The vague grey light filtering through the curtains and the sporadic traffic suggested that it couldn’t be later than five o’clock.  
Ethel settled along his breastbone and extended a paw to graze his chin. He raised his eyebrows. The paw was lazily retracted to a more respectful distance. He rewarded her with a slow blink. They were beginning to understand each other.  
His eyes acclimatised to the room. The armchair held a huddled body shrouded in a green blanket. A sliver of light haloed the crown of pale hair. Agnes. So where was John?  
He found him with a turn of the head, on top of his blankets but under his own quilt. Fast asleep, his wrist entrapped by Sherlock’s grasp, just as it had been since the early hours. Their pulses matched, give a beat or two.  
Sherlock released John’s hand a fraction at a time. John didn’t stir, other than to shift onto his back with a sigh. Ethel glared at him before stalking off the bed. She watched with detachment as Sherlock released the IV line from the cannula in his hand and swung his feet to the floor. It might have been over a year since he’d been in this room, but his feet remembered how to avoid the worst of the floorboards. The squeak of the door hinge could not be silenced, but neither John nor Agnes stirred.  
He filled a glass from the tap before sprawling the length of the sofa, eyes focused on the window. Even a mind as rational as his could appreciate the subtle beauty of dawn creep over Baker Street. A splinter of fierce , unlooked-for joy pierced him as sunlight dappled the floor. If this flat had to be his everywhere while he healed, so be it. All he truly needed was within his reach.


End file.
